


It Hurts

by mythireandfire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, pavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythireandfire/pseuds/mythireandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian rushes back to Skyhold after finding out that Lavellan has been keeping the extent of the Mark's damage from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired once again by siriusdraws.tumblr.com art. I highly recommend checking out their blog.

_“Master Pavus!”_

The surprised shout followed Dorian up the stairs into the Great Hall of Skyhold, but he didn’t slow as he raced past the startled guards and dignitaries, towards his lover’s quarters. He hadn’t slowed since Varric had sent him the missive a month ago.

_It’s consuming him, Sparkles. -V_

It was short, to the point, and it was all Dorian had needed.

The mage knew why the dwarf had been insufferably vague–there were a plethora of people in Tevinter who wanted his head on a spike ever since he returned home with a fiery vengeance. He had no doubt that his letters were read before they ever reached him, and news of the Inquisitor weakened and dying….

Dorian put on another burst of speed as he slammed into the door, the force of it carrying him through to ram into the stone wall, and he had to push himself off, cursing as he fought for balance and continued at a sprint.

Dennet’s face flashed through Dorian’s mind, the Horse Master’s startled expression as Dorian had practically flung his exhausted mount’s reins at the man.

“Where is he, Dennet?”

“Tevinter? What are you–”

_“Where. Is. He.”_

“Quarters, ser,” Dennet replied softly, understanding in his voice. “Inquistion hasn’t left em for days.”

 _Hasn’t left them for days._ The only time Niall stayed in his quarters was at night, and even then that was rare. Lavellan had a way of finding resting spots in the most unlikely of places. When he did stay in a space for days it was in the Archives with Dorian, or that room in the undercroft that Niall had found during their first year in Skyhold. But never has he stayed days on end in his own blasted rooms.

Taking the last flight of stairs two steps at a time, Dorian finally managed it to the Inquisitor’s room. He paused at the top, partly to catch his breath and partly from shock at the state of disarray the room was in.

Books littered the floor, having been flung from the shelves in heaps. The desk was upturned on it’s side, it’s contents spilling from the draws like entrails. The room was lit only by the rays of light coming from the open windows as the candelabras lay broken with the candles scattered.

But the green glow at the foot the destroyed bed is what finally grabbed Dorian’s attention.

Slowly, as if approaching a wild cat, Dorian glided over to where he could see his lover sitting on the floor at the end of the bed.

Niall was curled in on himself, clutching his left hand into his stomach, and though the appendage was hidden the sickly green glow was stronger that ever. Lavellan was naked from the waist up and Dorian could see him breathing heavily and a sheen of sweat across his shoulders, his pale blonde hair was dark with it.

Dorian knelt down by his Inquisitor and said, “Why, Amatus, whatever am I going to do with you?”

Niall jerked his head towards the sound of his voice, and Dorian felt his stomach drop and fear rise to his throat. Niall’s golden eyes were the vivid green of the mark and spidery veins of the same color snaked from his hand up to his shoulder.

“Ma Vhenan?” Niall whispered hoarsely, “Ma Vhenan, how..?” 

And then he was reaching for Dorian, who took him into his arms without hesitation. Instead of curling around his hand, Niall buried himself into Dorian, his right hand digging into the mage’s robes.

“It hurts,” he whimpered, a sound Dorian had never heard from Niall--Niall who had laughed when an arrow had gone through his shoulder--and it made him tighten his hold on Lavellan almost painfully.

“I know, Amatus.” Dorian acknowledged, burying his head into his lover’s hair. “But I’m here now, and I’ll fix it. Don’t I always?”

Niall chuckled weakly. “Show off.”

Dorian for once had no reply. He just smiled wanly, and held his love, taking as much of the pain from Niall as he could with his embrae. Hoping and praying that the Maker wouldn’t take him from Dorian.

And may He have mercy on him if He did.


End file.
